


Mortarion Pets Some Nurglings And Has A Nice Time

by aphoticdepths



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Canon-Typical Grossness, Ficlet, Fluff and Crack, Gen, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphoticdepths/pseuds/aphoticdepths
Summary: i want mortarion to have a good day. just one. one good day.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Mortarion Pets Some Nurglings And Has A Nice Time

At some point-during the time in the grip of the plague or after they had come from it-the small creatures had begun to crawl amongst the Death Guard. They seemed to be ever-present, crawling on databanks, leaving foul trails of slime and fluids over everything on the fleet, distracting Mortarion's sons. Vorx had taken an inexplicable fancy to the things, allowing them to giggle and clamber over him and even showing affection to them.

Absurd.

These Neverborn were simply inexplicable. The flies that followed them now came for the feast-they were hungry. Creatures like what Typhus had become and the ones the witches toyed with had their own agendas. The pests that had infested his ship seemed not after their souls, or even driven by the hunger for combat. They simply followed after his Death Guard, eating what rotted off of the slain or the soldiers, occasionally bringing bizarre 'gifts', babbling nonsensically, and generally making nuisances of themselves. Even what he could sense of them had no malevolence-only an idiot glee and admiration for creatures larger and more favored by their Grandfather than themselves.

It was not something Mortarion was familiar with. It was practically anathema to him. But, with the dreams his new god sent him and the siege and the pain, the creatures were...almost cheering. Almost. 

One of them with particularly atrophied limbs had balanced itself on its belly and was gently rolling itself into his boot again and again. Another was nuzzling against his greave, leaving a slimy residue where it rubbed itself. A third the Lord of Death held in the air, the creature wriggling delightedly as Mortarion gave it a look which sent mortals to their knees in tears.

"You," he intoned, "are being extremely disobedient. Cease."

The creature gave a cheerful burble. Mortarion glared further, and bent down to place it firmly on the floor. It gave a high coo, and darted in to place a sloppy, razor-mawed kiss that smelled like a sewer of rotting corpses on his nose, giggling. That presence only strengthened-of idiotic joy and an excited love for someone Grandfather deemed special.

To a Primarch tainted to rot, it was not entirely unpleasant.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my way of coping with The Buried Dagger.


End file.
